


SuperWells

by Rly



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015), Warehouse 13
Genre: Coming In Pants, Crossover, Dildos, Dream Sex, Exhibitionism, F/F, Feels, Inventions that work better than expected, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Really it's so much teasing, Teasing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-06-26 17:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rly/pseuds/Rly
Summary: Helena (H.G.) Wells after leaving Warehouse 13, and a brief jaunt of time travel, takes a job at the DEO in National City, helping protect the world from extraterrestrial threats. She invents new equipment for the DEO, including a new supersuit for Kara--for which she seems to have forgotten to include the underpants.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarNikita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarNikita/gifts).



> Inspired by a conversation with DarNikita in which we realized how easy it would be to replace Winn in season 2 of Supergirl at the DEO (leaving him at CatCo.) with H.G. Wells from Warehouse 13.

Whenever she was in the DEO, Kara stopped by Wells’ lab. At first she told herself it was to see the new projects, equipment and tools that Wells worked on. Then she admitted to herself she liked watching the woman work. That blend of scattered and genius, agile when she was making an invention, but apt to knock things off her worktable when lost in thought, reminded Kara of a girl she’d had a crush on in school on Krypton.

Plus with Cat gone … not that she was pining over Cat. But it was nice to have someone else to smile about.

It was hard to tell what kind of attention Wells paid to her. Those brown eyes were clever, curious, usually amused, but would Kara even know what desire looked like on someone who’d been born in the 1800s and had only spent a few years in Kara’s present time? In many ways, despite being human, Wells was as displaced as Kara. Neither could ever go back to the world they’d grown up in.

If Kara understood correctly, some version of H.G. Wells in the future finally managed—or was that manages?—to build the time machine she’d been working on for decades, maybe centuries. Far-Future-Wells used that time machine to send a past version of herself (past from the perspective of that future, but Future-Wells from the present) into the year 2016 to help protect the Earth from a series of severe alien invasions that hadn’t happened yet.

Thinking about that bent Kara’s brain, but she liked the bent-brain feeling. Only Cat had those kinds of vast, sweeping plans with thousands of variables that Kara could barely track.

But the memory of Cat faded some, her loss less painful, as Kara thought about Wells. Most recently, the agile touches of her narrow fingers when she’d fitted Kara for a anti-kryptonite chest-piece. That moment when her fingers were under Kara’s breasts, tugging the straps into place, had she taken her time on purpose, or was Kara imagining it? Maybe wishing for it?

Today she’d just swing by the lab and say hi, see if Wells needed anything, nothing serious. Friends checked on each other. Even if one friend got a little breathless from the memory of the other friend’s fingertips sliding along the lower curve of her breasts, over her suit of course. And thank Rao for that suit’s thick protectiveness so Wells couldn’t see how Kara’s nipples had tightened at her touch.

Which she was not thinking about  _at all_  as she leaned in the doorway of Wells’ workshop, though she crossed her arms over her chest to be on the safe side.

Shelves and drawers lined the walls. There was a narrow table against the back wall with instrumentation that Kara didn’t understand, and then a thick, heavy worktable dominating the center of the room. Three chairs had been pushed back to walls to Wells could walk around her worktable.

She stood over it now, goggles on, tiny tool in one hand, bit of circuitry in the other. Black hair framed her pale skin. A few creases showed at the corners of her mouth, the barest hint of her age that was, in that confusing time-travel way, somewhere over 100, though she looked barely over 40.  Her dark gray vest hung open over the cream-colored button-down shirt that was itself unbuttoned far enough for Kara to see the curve of one breast when Wells leaned forward over her work. Even more enticing than that was the way the tip of her tongue rested on her upper lip as her nimble fingers worked the tool into those delicate circuits. Those fingers could probably take care of anything.

And would. But in the world, out there, not on Kara. She shouldn’t even be thinking that, except what sort of person sent herself back in time to save people she’d never met? Even though she risked being jailed again by some Warehouse system run out of the East Coast that Kara had never heard of, even though she had to avoid running into some other version of herself in this timeline, Earth and humanity were that important to her.

From comments J’onn had made, Wells was not a paragon of human virtue. Even the off-hand comments she made at times revealed a significant wicked streak. How could Kara see more of that? Learn from her?

After a few minutes Wells pulled off the goggles and smiled at Kara, asking, “Did you need something?”

“Just wanted to see the latest.”

“Oh I’m still working on that new kryptonite blocking suit. I could do it if I could cover your whole body, but how to protect your exposed skin? That’s quite escaped me as yet.” Wells went to the end of the table and lifted a pile of blue fabric, held it out to Kara. “Try this fabric, though, will you like it?”

Kara liked the breathless, excited way Wells talked. She was so different from Cat Grant in some ways, but not others. Wells noticed as much or more than Cat but seemed content to spend most of her days in the DEO tinkering and offering suggestions, not running anything. Still, Kara had a sense of coiled power emananting from her. Maybe not the kind of power that ran capitalist media empires, but definitely the kind you wanted on your side in a fight.

The new supersuit felt liquid soft in her fingers. “That’s really nice.”

“Try it on. I took your size from the files. It should fit.”

Kara super-speed changed into it. The suit looked like her regular Supergirl suit but felt softer and heavier, comforting, protective. It was almost perfect except for the very obvious draft coming up under her skirt.

Wells had neglected to make underpants. The suit needed those, otherwise in the first big battle any normal underpants would get burnt off and the skirt was not nearly long enough to compensate. How could she tell Wells that she’d forgotten the super panties?

Wells walked around her saying, “So close, I’ll just have to take it in a bit here.”

Those long-fingered hands brushed Kara’s shoulders and traced down her back. Kara tried to conceal her shiver. Maybe she managed it. Wells stood behind her for a long time. Probably checking out the dimensions of the suit and a variety of high-tech features Kara could only guess at—and not, as Kara wished, checking out her ass in that skirt or the slope of her back from her broad shoulders to her waist. But a girl could wish.

Wells walked to her workbench and got a cloth tape measure. “Do you mind?” she asked.

“Uh, no.”

Kara expected soft touches, glancing, but Wells took a firm grip on her shoulder and stretched the tape along her back, smoothed it tight across her shoulders.

“Just making sure,” Wells said, her mouth close enough to the back of Kara’s neck that she felt the warmth of Wells’ breath.

“Of course,” Kara said, not wanting Wells to stop.

“Please pardon this,” Wells said as she reached around Kara’s chest from behind. “It’s just your suit is very tight for a reason; I wouldn’t want to make a mistake and have some nasty little robot crawl in.”

How could her accent sound both dignified and suggestive? Wells’ hands held the measuring tape mid-chest, moving slowly outward, fingers dragging firmly over Kara’s breasts to set the tape in place. Then around to the back as Wells asked, “Is this too tight?”

“No,” Kara said, barely above a whisper.

“Good, good.”

When she’d put this new suit on, to show it off, Kara had taken the classic Supergirl pose, feet shoulder-width apart, legs open. Now she could feel how wet she was getting with Wells touching her, standing that close behind her. When Wells moved to loop the tape around Kara’s waist, her body almost touched Kara’s, the warmth of her presence raced along Kara’s skin and Kara didn’t have to work to imagine Wells pressed against her back.

Kara really wanted to step her feet together, close her legs, not have tiny currents of air tickling along very sensitive skin that was only getting wetter by the second. She shifted her weight to one leg, but Wells put a hand on her hip and said, “Don’t move, please, you’re in the perfect position.”

_I’m really not_ , Kara thought.  _Just the perfect position to embarrass myself._

“I know you have things to do, people to save and all, only two more, I promise,” Wells told her.

Wells’ heartbeat was faster than when Kara walked in, so she dared a small test. She let her voice come out as breathless as she felt, saying, “I don’t mind. Thank you for being so thorough.”

Wells stepped forward again and Kara held her breath. Wells’ hands reached down almost to her pubic bone, and put the tape across her lower belly. Her heart definitely beat fast now. Kara could almost feel it at her back because this time Wells moved close enough that Kara registered the brush of her breasts. And yet Wells’ breathing was even and controlled in a way that made Kara quiver inside.

To bring the tape around to the small of Kara’s back, Wells had to step away again. Kara almost turned and reached for her. Instead, she said, “If you need to take more measurements, I don’t mind. I’d rather feel safe than sorry.”

And then she mentally kicked herself because the saying was “ _be_  safe”—but the truth was she did feel safe with Wells. Safer than she did with most people because Wells had seen more, dealt with more, survived more than anyone else Kara knew.

“I don’t think you’ll be sorry,” Wells said. “My designs tend to hold up.”

Strong fingers curled halfway around Kara’s neck, the tips brushing her throat as Wells’ thumb held the tape in place at the back of Kara’s neck. She pulled it slowly down Kara’s back, holding it against her. Wells smelled like some kind of cake, but with a deep note of intensisty, rum cake, maybe? Bourbon? Sweet and dangerous?

Again her touch ended too soon.

“What am I missing?” Wells asked, walking around to the front of her.

Kara couldn’t quite look her in the eye. If she’d been a regular human, Kara might have been able to read her, but the measured, soft waves of her breath were throwing Kara’s sense of whether or not Wells felt anything more for her than friendship and amusement.

As she was trying to get up the nerve to look into Wells’ dark eyes, Wells knelt at her feet, one knee between Kara’s boots. She put a hand over Kara’s instep, firm, decisive, her thumb holding the tape against Kara’s heel as she stretched it up the inside of her calf, inside of her knee.

_Who needed an inseam measurement for a skirt?_ Kara thought at the same time as:  _Rao, yes please_ —but also— _oh no! What if she isn’t into me? What if this is the most embarrassing work blunder the Earth has ever seen?_

If that measuring tape went all the way to the crease of Kara’s inner thigh—with no super panties in the way—Wells would definitely encounter the aching, desperate wetness between Kara’s legs. She’d gotten so wet just from the touches to her chest and waist and, oh, those fingers half caressing her throat, there was no way Wells could miss what a needy mess she was turning Kara into.

“Helena, wait!” Kara said, too loud.

Wells gripped Kara’s leg above the knee to hold the tape in place, but didn’t advance it. She rested back on her heel, looked up, questioning. She wasn’t quite under the skirt, maybe hadn’t seen or wouldn’t see—and Kara felt beyond frozen staring down at this elegant, clever woman who had a hand on her thigh and her sculpted, frequently smirking, very pink lips less than two feet from Kara’s now-throbbing lower lips.

The only words Kara managed to get out were, “I can’t fly in this.”

“Did I make it wrong?” Wells’ tone was perfectly reasonable, slightly worried, not the sound of a woman thinking about anything other than her ability as a craftsperson.

Kara closed her eyes, tried not to think about how much redder she could blush, and said, “It needs underpants.”

Wells was silent. Seconds crawled by. Having her eyes closed made it easier, not harder, for Kara to picture Wells dropping that damned measuring tape and moving her hand up the inside of Kara’s thigh, fingers sliding around deliciously as they parted her lips. Easier to imagine Wells’ mouth following her fingers, her head pushing up Kara’s skirt as her tongue found Kara’s …

Kara forced her eyes open and looked down. Wells turned away fast, her cheeks very bright. She withdrew her hands. Kara’s leg went cold in their absence.

Standing, Wells crossed the room and tucked the measuring tape into a drawer. Kara took the opportunity to close her legs.

Wells cleared her throat, twice, turned back to Kara and asked, “Do you have a style preference for these underpants?”

“Functional,” Kara managed to say.

“By what measures? Comfort and durability, of course, but what else?”

“There are options?”

Wells’ smile spread slowly across her lips, the expression lighting her eyes with mischief. “Why don’t I just make you a pair with everything?”

“Why does that sound so ominous?” Kara asked, struggling to recover now that Wells was on the other side of the room.

“Because I’m over 100 and you can’t quite imagine what I mean when I say ‘ _everything_.’”

Kara’s breath caught. “I have to go … something with the … Alex is going to need … thanks for … everything.”

She was halfway down the hall when Wells called to her, “Leave me the suit. You can’t fly in that.”


	2. Chapter 2

Wells sank into the chair she used for thinking, across from her worktable, near the most-used bookshelf. It looked like a heavy wingback armchair recliner—and it did recline into a bed for the nights she wanted to sleep near her inventions. Under its supple brown leather surface and worn, comfy seat cushion lay more metal and technology than most people could imagine. 

Sitting in that chair, she though—for a long time—about the smell of Kara’s hair, the strength of her shoulders and back, the truly delicious curve of her bottom. She thought slowly and thoroughly of her tour of Kara’s body, down to the surprising grace in the arch of her foot, the fierce heat when Wells had reached her inner thigh. 

Wells had not intentionally left out the underpants, but as an inventor she relied on her subconscious, trusted it implicitly, and it had made such an interesting choice this time. Maybe not a good choice, but an amazing one. 

The longer she’d known Kara, the more Wells liked her for being smart, independent, headstrong, and because she smelled like wonder. Wells had a real thing for wonder.

Plus Kara brought a delightful level of enthusiasm and eagerness. She loved learning new things and seeing what Wells was working on. She had a knack for understanding how those inventions could be applied. Maybe that came from growing up on Krypton, where technology had been integrated with daily life in a way that wouldn’t happen on Earth for decades, but Wells thought it was also inherent to Kara, to the way she prized knowledge and what people did with it. Zero fear of innovation; boundless wonder. 

So when Kara had said she couldn’t fly in the new suit, of course Wells had looked up from between Kara’s boots and Kara’s spread legs. That mid-thigh skirt let in plenty of light, more than enough to illuminate delicate, dark rosy lips and a few curls of neatly-trimmed hair between Kara’s legs. Those tiny curls had been darkened with moisture, plastered wetly to that slightly swollen, so vulnerable skin. Wells wanted to touch them with her tongue, taste Kara, determine how much of that wetness was from the way Wells had been touching her, and how much wetter Kara could get.

She couldn’t have imagined what it would do to her to see this girl of steel, this unbreakable, fierce, immensely strong woman—standing in the pose of that strength—completely bare beneath. Vulnerable, naked, revealed. 

In some ways, that was a core aspect of Kara that she appreciated: the hidden contradictions. The way so many of the people around her thought they knew her when they didn’t. Wells didn’t assume she knew Kara and she very much wanted to keep uncovering more. 

But now, having seen more of Kara than she’d planed, she felt unraveled. She and Kara were co-workers, and she was trying to learn how to behave in this world and time. She’d made such a mess of things with the Warehouse system, especially 13 and Myka. She wasn’t going to do that again, not loose both a woman and the only place she belonged.

And she loved working here. She felt happy in that way she’d been for a while in the Warehouse system, at 12 and then, briefly, at 13 with Myka. She loved having a capable team and making them better.

So many things could go wrong with a workplace … fling? dalliance? romance? relationship? She didn’t even know what this was or could be. 

And when she felt uncertain like this, it was a sign to pause and gather more information. So who could she ask about current dating customs and appropriate workplace behavior? J’onn, of course, but he’d be no fun. Perhaps Alex. 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Mid-week, the morning before the DEO weekly briefing, Wells wasn’t in her workshop. Kara saw a folded triangle of red cloth on the worktable. Those had to be the new superpanties. She  snagged them along with the new supersuit. She quick-changed on her way to the briefing. Wells was already there, absorbed in something on her laptop, but she nodded and smiled as Kara joined them. 

J’onn flashed photos of aliens on the main screen and started talking. Kara couldn’t quite focus on what he was saying since the front of her panties had begun a nearly soundless vibration. 

_I guess the ‘everything’ panties come with a built in vibrator_ , she thought, _but how did I turn it on and how do I turn it off?_

She leaned against a console and crossed her legs, but that only focused the vibration closer to her clit. So, better to stand upright, legs apart, but then she got worried that someone would hear it. She rested mostly on her left leg, then switched to the right, which shifted the vibrating mass down further.

Matters got worse when Wells came over the show her a complicated map of alien residency on her laptop. Wells smelled like vanilla and sandalwood and some fruity confection that Kara wanted to lick. She was getting so wet from the constant, low-level buzz. Good thing the crotch of the super panties was at least double thickness, though the inner layer didn’t absorb her wetness, just held it close to her skin so that every time she moved her legs, she felt all the slippery warmth there.  And Wells had such beautiful long fingers; it wasn’t hard to imagine them just brushing aside the crotch of her panties. 

Thankfully the meeting was ending. “Can I talk to you about the new supersuit?” Kara asked, trying not to sound desperate.

“Does everything fit?” Wells asked. 

“Meet me in your workshop,” Kara told her and headed down the hall without waiting.

She focused on slowing her breathing while Wells caught up. Once they reached the workshop, Kara managed to ask evenly, though she could feel the hot blood rising in her cheeks, “How do I turn these off?”

“What?” Wells asked, walking around to the far side of her worktable. 

Kara followed her around the table and leaned back against it, pitching her voice low enough not to be heard in the hall. “The panties are vibrating.” 

“You think I built you a vibrator?” Wells’ face lit with delight. She actually sounded surprised. “I don’t know what kind you like, so I only made a pocket at the front that you _could_ put one into. Something must’ve gone wrong, though I can’t imagine. I did build in some survival features. I’m sorry, could I just take a look?” 

_A_ _sane person would take the panties off right now_ , Kara thought _. A sane person would’ve stepped out of the meeting and quick-changed into her old supersuit._ When it came to Wells, she wasn’t thinking clearly. Or quickly _._ Because while she thought all that through, Wells had simply lifted the front of her skirt like a mechanic looking under the hood of a car. 

“That’s not right,” Wells declared. 

It was actually a bit too right, Kara thought as Wells touched the front of the panties, more than slowly enough for Kara to stop her. Kara gripped the worktable as Wells’ fingers brushed lightly down the fabric over her pubic mound and tucked into a pocket at the front of the panties. 

The hard, vibrating object pressed into Kara, nestling against her clit and between the top of her lips. Her head rocked back, mouth open, trying to catch her breath and not come while Wells was touching her like she was some car battery. 

“Stop fighting me,” Wells grumbled. 

“What?”

“Oh not you, dear, one second,” Wells said. 

Rao, her accent made Kara want to kiss her, feel her tongue, taste those words. 

There was definitely something round and hard buzzing against Kara and now she could also feel the tips of Wells’ fingers as she tried to grab it despite its furtive movements. Was there some kind of sentient mini-vibrator struggling to evade capture? Had one of her many enemies picked a very convenient time for a sex-based attack? Who even did that?

It slid lower and Wells pursued. There was only one layer of fabric between Wells’ fingers and Kara. The buzzing object pressed against the underside of her clit and she rocked her hips, almost riding it, before she caught herself. Wells made a sound, barely audible, a murmur of frustration. About Kara? Or about whatever she was chasing in Kara’s panties?

Wells' fingers slipped sideways and she muttered, “Almost.”

Kara agreed. She was so close to that edge that her body pulsed, as if trying to draw Wells inside. And she was so wet Wells could easily slide four fingers into her and press her back against this table and … if she thought about that any more she was going to lose it, and not with some little orgasm that she could pretend hadn’t happened, she wanted to come hard all over Wells’ hand and … this was. not. helping.

Was Wells’ workshop sound proofed? How could they keep working together, how could she even look at Wells again if she lost control … why didn’t her power set come with the ability to super hold back an orgasm? How could she fly and shoot lasers from her eyes and still feel this helpless just because a beautiful, brilliant woman who smelled like vanilla sugar had her fingers down the front of Kara’s panties? On the outside! Not even in her panties, not even skin on skin. Strong fingers, at that. Strong and efficient, cool at first when they’d slid in but warming now, and that creamy porcelain color of her skin would look amazing coated in the clear, slick wetness, sliding between Kara’s lips, into her.

“You’re … strong for a human,” Kara breathed the words out, hoping she could distract herself. 

“Not like you,” Wells murmured. “But in the future I infused myself with nanites, perfectly harmless here, can’t live outside my body, so I’m a bit more than human. Ah, I’m so close, try not to move, I’m just about there.”

Kara was shivering from the words and the effort of staying still as Wells’ fingers closed around the thing and it buzzed harder in response. Kara clamped her mouth shut over a groan. She really could not let this happen. But she’d already passed the point where she could stop. The pressure had been building for too long. Her clit felt swollen and tender and so needy. It would only take one brush from Wells’ fingers there, the slightest touch and she’d be undone, yelling and arching and losing herself in that sensation.

“Aha!” Wells said, jerking her hand away and holding up a small, round metal object with tiny blue lights around its edges. “One of the new micro-drones. It must’ve crawled in from my worktable. The vibrations help it sense its environment. _Do_ you want a vibrator for that front pocket? I can build you a much better one than this.”

Kara couldn’t answer. She poured on the super speed to get out of Wells’ workshop and out of the DEO. She flew straight up for miles, until the air was cold, until she felt sure no cameras or spy lenses or drones could see her. Then she hovered, found that little pocket at the front of her new panties and tucked three fingers into it, closing her eyes, pretending Wells was still touching her. She came so hard that she fell out of the sky.

Air rushed past, dizzy weightlessness. Her muscles releasing and clenching. She curled tight, both hands pressed between her legs now, helpless as her body released its need in waves. She caught herself before she could crashed down through the top of National City’s tallest building. Floating the last few feet, she landed on her back on that empty rooftop and stared up at the clear sky, stars still at the corners of her vision, body tingling from within.

Maybe she should ask Wells to make her that vibrator. And show her how to use it. 


	4. Chapter 4

A proper inventor would’ve washed that micro-drone, erased its memory, returned it to the rest of the other drones, but Wells felt far from proper and so the adventurous little robot got its own drawer.

She also definitely should not have wiped the sheen of moisture off the drone’s flat belly, the wetness that had soaked through from Kara. It was highly workplace inappropriate to have put that touch of wetness on the tip of her finger in her mouth—and extremely frustrating not to have more of it to taste. 

If only Kara had let herself go. If only Wells hadn’t been so damned careful. She should not have pulled that little drone out, she should’ve rubbed it into Kara harder and _made_ her lose control. She should’ve pushed up against her, one leg between Kara’s, and held her as she came.

But Wells had been truly worried when she saw the shape moving in the front of Kara’s panties, because some of her invention were dangerous, even for Kara. She’d put her hand there without thinking. But once her fingers touched that slightly rounded, buzzing surface, she’d known it was one of the micro-drones and harmless. 

Her mind had seemed to slow in time, while her fingers automatically followed the drone, trying to get hold of its slick surface. Kara smelled of amber and sweet musk and some Kryptonian scent with a name like _shokh_. Aware of the heat of Kara’s body and the scent rising from her, Wells hadn’t quite realized how far down the front of Kara’s panties her fingers had traveled until she reached all that wetness. Given the thickness of the material—and Wells should know, she’d designed it—for her to feel that heavy, silken moisture meant that Kara was very wet and had been that way for a long time.

That’s when Wells registered how Kara’s hands clenched around the table, the muscles working in her jaw, her eyes raised to the ceiling like she was praying. She felt the compressed rocking motions of Kara’s hips as she tried not to rub herself against the drone or … maybe? … against Wells’ hand. 

Wells had spent an extra minute slipping around the drone’s body on purpose, just to feel Kara. And then guilt crashed in. She hadn’t asked if this was okay; she’d just done this, and though Kara seemed to like it and definitely had the strength to stop her, she couldn’t be sure Kara’s response wasn’t purely physical. This drone must’ve been in Kara’s panties the whole meeting. Her control was amazing. The wash of guilt pushed Wells to draw her hand away, hold up the drone, over-explain things to Kara, who looked ready to explode. 

And Wells still wished Kara had. Exploded. Right there, where Wells could watch and touch and kiss her. Every morning of the next few days, when she came into her workshop, she stood by the indentations on her worktable: two clear sets of fingers had bent the metal inward as Kara held on to it and tried not to climax. 

Every morning, Wells put her own fingers there, longer and thinner than Kara’s, and imagined touching Kara’s hands and her face, pulling her close to kiss. Some nights after she went home and got into bed in just her threadbare T-shirt, she recalled the shape of the indentations in her worktable and imagined Kara’s fingers on her. And inside her. She put her fingers there and rode her hand and if she whispered Kara’s name, at least the sounds of the city and the noise-dampeners she’d built would mask that from Kara’s super hearing. 

While that made for lovely, if frustrating, evenings and restful sleep, it also made it harder to be around Kara at work. Kara never seemed to mind if Wells brushed her arm to get her attention or stood close to show her data. A few times, she moved closer too, then seemed to catch herself and freeze. 

They needed to talk, but how to do this without making it supremely awkward? So far the only way Wells had come up with to start the conversation was, “So, the other day, when you flew out of here super fast …” or “I wish you hadn’t left, I wish you’d stayed here and …” with variations that got less proper the longer she thought about it. She didn’t know how to ask in a way that gave Kara all the space she might need to say, “No.”

It was definitely time to ask Alex her questions about current dating customs and how they pertained to co-workers. She messaged Alex and asked her to visit the workshop when it was convenient. Then she went back to working on the micro-drones until she hit a roadblock and decided to make some molten lava cakes to clear her mind. She’d been a decent cook in the late 1800s, but it was her time in the future that showed her how cooking and baking were close enough to inventing but also relaxing enough to occupy and clear her mind.

Alex arrived while the little cakes were in the oven. She sat on the stool on the far side of the workbench and asked, “What’s on your mind?”

Wells settled on the stool on her side of the table, leaning on one elbow. “I have questions about appropriate workplace behavior and about dating in the workplace.”

“Really?” Alex glanced at the open door and back at Wells, eyebrows rising.

Wells figured she should offer some kind of explanation for why she’d chosen Alex and said, “I know I could’ve gone to HR, but I haven’t had the easiest time with them. They’re okay when aliens look middle-aged and turn out to be 300, but not as much with a human who looks 40 instead of 114. And I was going to ask J’onn, but he’s just not as much fun as you are. Plus you’ve had more experience with this sort of thing.”

Alex sat back a little and crossed her arms. 

“I’m sorry,” Wells said. “I thought since you worked with Maggie … it’s too soon isn’t it?”

“Just, uh, what are your questions?”

Wells nodded, best to get to it. “If I were going to ask a co-worker if she’s interested in going on a date, that’s the right way to do it, isn’t it? There are dates, we go around together, and then confirm our affections?” Alex nodded so Wells went on. “What are the implications? What’s the right way to go about this?”

“Do I know this co-worker … well?” Alex asked. 

“I’d say you’re _fairly_ close to her,” Wells said, suppressing her smile.

Alex opened her mouth but the timer went off and Wells ducked to pull the chocolate lava cakes out of the oven.

“One sec,” Wells said. “Let’s see how these have turned out.” She ran a knife around the sides of the cakes and slid them out onto plates. 

“When did they install an oven in here?” Alex asked.

“Oh, I built it. It doubles as a kiln.” Wells cut into the first cake with a fork and watched the lava spill out. She turned the plate toward Alex. “Perfect timing.” And held out the fork until Alex took it. 

Alex only looked dubious until she put a bite of cake in her mouth. “This is amazing,” she murmured.

“I’m gratified that you think so. Now, next question, in this time and culture, there’s a phenomenon known as the ‘rebound.’ Could you explain this to me?”

“It’s when a person has feelings for or is sexual with someone because they’re recovering from an important relationship and they just need to clear the decks, you know, clear their mind. You didn’t have rebounds in the future?”

“We had something like it in the 1800s, but not the same. Oh, if only you’d seen the 1890s … but you would be, perhaps, alarmed? Startled at the very least. The future has ... a lot of variations. Do these rebounds ever become an important relationship?” 

“Are you having a rebound with someone you have feelings for?” Alex asked. 

“No, only the feelings.”

Alex looked down at the two small plates with half-eaten cakes oozing chocolate and back up at Wells. “It’s too soon,” she said. “You shouldn’t pursue this. Workplace relationships can get so messy and painful. You know there are a lot of people out there, you could go out to a bar or something. You’ll find the right person.” 

Alex hopped off the stool and walked out quickly, leaving Wells quite a bit more perplexed than when the conversation had begun.

*

“I think Wells was trying to ask me out,” Alex told Kara as the sisters relaxed on the couch in Kara’s apartment. Then, of course, she had to give the whole story, lava cake included. 

“Are you sure?”

“She brought up Maggie and asked about rebounds. And she's definitely into someone at the DEO,” Alex said. “A woman, maybe human? She’s bi, but I don’t know how she feels about aliens.”

_That makes two of us,_ Kara thought. 

“But she didn’t actually ask you about you being on the rebound from Maggie?” Kara asked, trying to figure out how many people at the DEO could be considered on the rebound. 

“No, but she said something about the 1890s, like she wished I was there. She’s just not my type. I don't know if I should say anything more to her. I’m going to spend as much time in the field as I can for a while,” Alex said.

And Wells was, more completely by the day, exactly Kara’s type. Had she been trying to ask if Kara was on the rebound? Kara supposed that showing up with a vibrating drone in panties she didn’t remove could be seen as a rebound-type activity. Did Wells even know about Cat? Or could she be thinking about Mon-el? Could Wells have been trying to get advice from Alex about asking Kara out? Kara wanted that so much she didn’t dare think about it.

But then Wells brushed her off twice that week. Possibly because she had work to do or because Alex, of all people, had told her not to pursue her interest in this mysterious rebounding woman. Whether that was Kara or this advice had simply put Wells in a mood, she couldn’t tell. 

At home in the evenings, Kara ate her way through pizzas and pints of ice cream and potstickers. What was she supposed to have done? Not gotten so impossibly turned on when Wells had reached into the front of the panties? Was Wells not into aliens? 

How did you even ask someone that?

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Granted this story is very non-canonical, but this does occur around/after season 3 episode 2 where Kara fights Psi.

Wells spent part of the week trying to figure out how much Kara might be interested in her, if Wells _was_ a rebound, and whether or not she would care. She even started an awkward and somewhat painful conversation with J’onn that ended in him explaining in great and useless detail the Martian courtship customs. 

Before she’d worked out what to do about Kara, a new villain emerged on the scene, using psionic powers to rob banks and create chaos—and Wells was back to her worktable full time. The psionic inhibitor ray had been a fine piece of work for a rush job, but Wells hated that she hadn’t put it into a headband or a choker, something Kara wouldn’t have to hold—something Kara could not drop. 

Wells watched the fight from the many monitors at the DEO, tapped into the street cameras, news feeds, and cameras worn by DEO agents. She watched Psi hit Kara with one wave of force, staggering her, and then another that threw her most of a city block. Wells had to keep her face blank, neutral, but inside she was screaming. She could not let an invention of hers be Kara’s defeat. 

Of course Kara was strong enough on her own for that fight. The DEO camera on Alex caught the conversation between them, Kara’s horror and grief because she thought she’d killed someone she cared about. And her ability to pull herself together to get back in the fight.

As soon as the DEO agents got back, one with the broken psionic inhibitor, Wells went to her workshop. She closed the door and leaned against the table, shaking, then slumped to sit on the floor, tears flowing. 

Warehouse 13 lived in the back of her mind, sometimes unapproachable, other times a file that was readable but filed safely away. She’d been so young then and arrogant and out of balance. She hadn’t known her own mind well enough to see the cost of her mistrust. If she’d stopped playing with the Warehouse agents for a minute, stopped trying to impress Myka and stay six steps ahead of everyone … they still wouldn’t have agreed to her plan, but at least Myka wouldn’t have been left thinking Wells wanted to massacre humanity.

The trident at Yellowstone was only the delivery system. It would’ve started a magnetic shift that altered Earth’s weather patterns and made the planet more resilient. Wells had lost one child, one beautiful, brilliant daughter—but every day thousands of children died from preventable causes; 25,000 a day last time she’d looked. If she’d used the trident, tens of thousands would have died, maybe hundreds of thousands, but in the long term, millions would be saved. 

The things was, genius as she was, she knew now that she had no right to make that decision on her own. Back then she’d only begun learning how to work with others. Much as she’d loved Myka, still did, she hadn’t trusted her enough to talk to her about everything.

Watching Kara through the camera struggle with her own fear and grief, her guilt, the weight of responsibility and how light-hearted she could be when bearing it … Wells realized how much she already trusted Kara. That was terrifying, for certain, but it wasn’t surprising. What surprised Wells was how willing she felt to walk through that terror and find what lay on the other side. 

But it had been a very long time since she’d actually asked a girl out. 

* 

After the fight with Psi, Kara ended up walking around her apartment eating pizza and staring at nothing. She’d been so upset about Mon-el, more than anything in her life, that she’d even questioned her growing feelings for Wells, thinking maybe that _was_ a rebound. 

When she faced her fears about thinking she’d killed Mon-el, she saw that the root was steeped in guilt. He was fun. She’d enjoyed the fairytale romance and that “in it together” feeling of being aliens who’d both lost their homes. Except he hadn’t really lost his. And the fairytale was only fun until it got boring. 

She’d been afraid that she hadn’t loved him enough, that because she wasn’t that into him, she’d been careless with his life. She’d thought if she’d really loved him, she would’ve found another way. But she hadn’t killed him. Her guilt made sense as soon as she realized where it came from. And Mon-el wasn’t the kind of person she wanted to have a life with.

Was Wells? And how would she know if Wells felt the same? Kara was a lot younger, and not from this planet, and having to fly off every other minute to save people. 

Wells seemed attracted to her and if it turned out to just be about sex, maybe that was okay too. 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Kara went into the restroom like a normal human—at least one wearing a supersuit—and took off her panties slowly, waiting to see if she could talk herself out of this. Nope, she was determined. She was going to march into Wells’ workshop, naked under her skirt, and … figure something out when she got there. 

She could point out that Wells hadn’t taken the inseam measurement and that she might someday want super pants—if she had the guts to do that. Plan B was to pull the panties out of her pocket, set them boldly on the worktable, and ask questions about them. But was there a better Plan A? Maybe something a bit more classy?

Why was fighting villains and aliens so much easier than this? All down the long hall, air moved against her newly-exposed skin. Almost to the workshop door, she realized that the real Plan A should be that Kara just take a deep breath and ask if Wells wanted to go out sometime. 

She almost turned around and went back to the restroom to put the panties back on, but having them tucked into one of the hidden pockets of her skirt, feeling the air on her skin, made her brave and maybe a little reckless. And Wells would never need to know what it took for Kara to ask her out like a normal person. 

Kara leaned against the doorframe of Wells’ workshop as usual. Wells stood on the far side of the table, tapping a small piece of metal into place on a curved metal bar with lights and circuits. It looked like a horseshoe only bigger, chrome, round instead of flat. 

A plate at the end of the worktable held a few macarons from Wells’ last stint of baking, so Kara snagged one and ate it. Green tea, airy, slightly chewy, really nice. 

“What’re you working on?” Kara asked, pretty sure she’d just failed at sounding casual. 

Wells glanced up, the glint in her eye getting intense, lips just curving with a smile or maybe that was more of a smirk. “As it turns out, I’ve been building a set of portable restraints for aliens,” she said. 

“Oh.” Kara had to clear a few images out of her mind before she could go on. “That could come in handy … you know, with other aliens. How do they work?” 

“If you get them near a wrist, ankle, throat, other appendage, they should be able to sense it and move toward it. The curved part goes over the—wrist, for example—and the two ends affix to any available strong surface,” Wells explained. “I am ready to test them, if you’re volunteering.”

Kara barely managed to swallow the rest of the macaron, her mouth was so dry. “You know what, I am. I mean, I’m the logical person around here to test them. Nobody’s stronger than me.”

“You _are_ the best choice. When I’ve got them fully operational, they’ll be able to be thrown or shot out of something, haven’t entirely worked out what yet, but for the time being, if you’ll just take a seat in that chair.” 

Wells gestured to the ultra-heavy armchair that she sat in to read. It also doubled as a site for some of her device testing because it was half old-fashioned armchair and half dense metal scaffolding. 

Kara sat and crossed her legs, pretty sure they were going in the right direction, not sure how fast they should be going that way. Wells leaned over—giving Kara a wonderful view down her shirt at her very mesh-forward bra, an icy lilac color—and put a small arch of metal over Kara’s left wrist. It bent itself to fit her wrist and clanked onto the metal of the chair arm. 

“How do these work?” Kara asked, hoping to keep Wells bent over her as long as possible. 

“As many ways as I could devise. You see, I was trying to find the single most effective way to restrain superpowered aliens and then I realized I could simply use every way I could come up with in the same restraint.”

She’d paused while talking, hands on the chair arms near Kara’s wrists. Kara got a little breathless from the nearness of Wells’ woody, earthy, fruity scent and couldn’t come up with another question. Wells put the second restraint over Kara’s right wrist and it locked down. 

She explained, “They affix to metal or stone or to each other, depending on what’s needed.” 

The chair faced the back of the room. Wells took a few steps away, leaned against the back wall of the room, crossed her arms, smiling, and apraised Kara in the chair. “All right, see if you can break them. Please.” 

Kara tugged moderately hard, then harder. 

Super strength by itself wasn’t working, so Kara turned her laser vision on and seared the edge where the metal of the restraint had fused itself to the chair. When it was red-hot, she tugged as hard as she could and the restraint came loose. 

Wells eyes were wide with shock. “You’re stronger than I thought.”

“You bet I am,” Kara said. She snapped the other side of the restraint loose and tossed it lightly in Wells’ direction for her to catch.

In the air, that thick, silver horseshoe flipped itself. It curved up and beelined for Wells’ neck. The ends clanked against the wall, a thick band of metal around her throat. Wells grabbed it with both hands while Kara fought to get her other wrist free and help. 

“I’m okay,” Wells called to her. “It’s not too tight. They’re designed to be non-lethal.”

“I wasn’t trying to … what just happened?” Kara asked, tugging hard at the other restraint with her free hand.

“I designed them to be heat-seeking, to detect where they might be useful and go there if thrown.”

“I’m so sorry!”

“Why?” Wells asked. “It worked. This is marvelous. Now, how to get us out?”

Kara lasered the left wrist restraint and pulled hard. It didn’t move. But her left arm was as strong as her right so she should be able to break it. She tugged more. Nothing. 

“They adapt within a range,” Wells explained. “It’s learning how to resist being superheated. These have really turned out much better than I intended.” Wells sounded much more pleased than anyone being pinned to a wall by their neck had any right to.

She also looked more dignified than Kara thought possible, in her long, dark trousers and a gray vest over a cream-colored soft cotton button down shirt. And, having glimpsed down it, Kara could also picture the icy lilac bra under that shirt. If she didn’t generally hate being restrained, she might’ve just sat there for a bit and admired Wells looking all put together while being the victim of one of her inventions.

Kara tried her freezing breath on the left wrist restraint. That didn’t work either. 

“The key is on my worktable,” Wells said. “It’s electronic, like a car fob. If you can kick it close enough for me to hit it with my foot, we’ll be out of this pickle.”

Kara looked over at the worktable. Theoretically it was close enough that if she really stretched her leg she could probably hit the small gray rectangle of the remote. Assuming that she spread her legs very wide, with no panties on, while facing Wells. That hadn’t been plan A or B … more like plan J.  

But she _had_ considered being brazen. Clearly fate was calling her bluff.

Drawing in a very long breath, she said, “I’m not sure how accurately I can kick, I should probably take my boot off.”

“Good thinking.”

Kara unzipped her right boot, watching Wells whose eyes did not stray from Kara’s fingers slowly tugging the zipper down. She got her foot free and let the boot drop to the floor. Then she extended her leg slowly over the arm of the chair, toward the worktable. 

The front of her skirt was falling forward, covering her, but as she reached her leg toward the table, more of her inner thigh came into view. She shifted sideways and reached a few inches further, getting her toes to the edge of the table. 

“Oh. You aren’t … ohh,” Wells breathed. She still had the fingers of one hand wrapped around the metal at her throat, but the other hand stretched toward Kara.

The remote lay far enough from the edge of the table that Kara had to inch her toes across that cool metal surface. She reached it, but only managed to tap it another inch away. The motion made her skirt shift. Kara looked down to see the edge of her pussy, peeking out from behind the red fabric. 

“I had questions about the everything panties,” Kara said as if that explained this. 

“Kara …,” Wells breathed her name, caught herself, blinked slowly, said, “We should talk about this, whatever this is, and what you want. I don’t know what you want.” The last sentence came out plaintive, almost desperate.

“Right now? I want this off my wrist and to kiss you.”

“With or without this?” Wells asked, tugging at the metal around her throat. 

Kara found herself grinning way more than she thought she should. “Either,” she said. 

“Is this …” Wells trailed off, her eyes intent, lips open, chest rising and falling visibly. She gathered herself again to ask, “Can I ask you out without destabilizing our work relationship? I can’t lose this place. I don’t belong anywhere else.”

Kara’s heart surged at the “asking out” question. She’d been willing for it to be just sex but in the moment got how much she didn’t want it to be only that. She wanted everything with Wells, but at the moment she’d be happy if they started with sex. 

“You won’t,” Kara said. “You’ll always belong here. And we can handle this. I’m actually pretty good at workplace relationships.” 

The worry hadn’t quite left Wells’ eyes. Maybe it was wrong, at the least a little bad, but Kara knew how to get her to stop worrying about the past and future and focus back on this present opportunity. She stretched another half-inch, almost to the remote. Not that she was looking at the remote. Not with the way Wells eyes widened and darkened, watching the space between Kara’s legs and the slightest motion of the skirt.

“What questions did you have, exactly, that moved you to take off your panties?” Wells asked.

Kara let her toes rest on the table and reached down to the side of the skirt, revealing a bit more of herself. She traced a finger along her outer lip. “There’s a seam in the panties that rubs, here I think.”

“And you’d like it to stop rubbing?” Wells asked. “Or to rub, somewhere else?” 

“Oh, is that an option? Not on missions, of course, but sometimes it would be nice. Maybe here?” She stroked her inner lips, thinking: _I can’t believe I’m doing this._ But also: _I can’t believe I get to do this._

Not that she hadn’t taken all her clothes off on Cat’s desk. What was her deal with powerful older women? In this case, much older since on paper at least H.G. Wells was 151. Wells had said with the freezing and time travel it was closer to 114. But then Kara was technically a 26-year-old who was also 39. 

Kara had no idea how Wells kept her voice even as she said, “I can make that modification, but for it to really work you’re going to have to be more specific. Is it only an up stroke that you want?”

Rao, this _was_ happening.  

“Let me think,” Kara said, bringing her leg back from full extension to the table and draping it over the arm of the chair. She rubbed one finger down her lips and up, slid a little between them because of course she was already so wet and getting wetter. And then, face heating at her own daring, she said, “Oh, I guess I shouldn’t get my skirt all wet.” 

She scooted her hips forward enough that the back of the skirt wasn’t really under her, and tugged the front a bit more sideways—showing her outer lips, already swollen, and her inner lips, shining with liquid—but leaving that very dark red fabric to fall just to the side, framing her, bringing out the deepening colors in the parts of her that were getting even more blood flow than her cheeks. 

She made herself look up at Wells, see how her dark eyes had gone wolfish, and ask as lightly as she could, “Is it okay if I get your chair wet?”

“Please,” Wells gasped, desperate enough that Kara wasn’t quite sure if that was Wells’ answer or if she was begging to be released from her captivity against the wall.

“Because, I know you like to sit here,” Kara said, running a fingertip between her lips and then drawing a damp circle on the leather. 

Wells groaned and tugged at the metal around her throat. 

Kara put that finger in her mouth and drew a second circle around the first. 

With control that seemed superhuman, Wells managed to still herself, eyes heavy-lidded with desire, breathing heavy but even. “You’d like both up and down then,” she said, more purring than purely calm. “But _how far_ up and down?”

“Down to here,” Kara said, drawing her finger to where her inner lips met. “Oh, wait, can you see from there? I don’t want to be inexact. I know how much you like precise measurements.” 

She used two fingers to spread her lips. She knew how wet she was by feel, but it was another thing entirely to watch a small drop of that clear, thick liquid slipping from her opening to soak into the leather of the chair. 

“Down to there, and up to … let’s see.” Kara shifted her fingers to keep herself open while the tip of her index finger found the bottom of her clit and rubbed it. “Oh … oh maybe here, or …” she circled her clit fully, “could you do here?”

“I believe I could. With hard pressure or softer? Only circling or additional motions, such as, licking?”

That word rocked Kara’s head back against the chair. She had to stop touching herself and grip the arm hard because she so badly wanted Wells’ tongue on her. 

“Rao, yes,” she gasped, plus a few choice phrases in Kryptonian. 

“I’ll need to take some very precise measurements,” Wells said. “With my most delicate instruments.” 

“Yes, please,” Kara said. 

“Are you going to make me stand here helpless and watch you come, or are you going to release me so I can help?” Wells asked. 

Honestly, Kara wanted both options, but the latter one first. She clenched her teeth and extended her leg toward the worktable, desperate to reach the key and get them out of this so Wells could kneel at her feet again and give her what she needed. 

“What on earth?! Helena! Kara?” Alex’s alarmed voice from the hallway had her yank her leg back to cross-legged super fast, jerking her skirt into place. Her sister was the last person in the DEO who should discover her like this!

Alex hurried into the room, going to Wells and tugging at the confining metal around her neck. 

“Worktable,” Wells said, without sounding more breathless than a woman trapped by her own invention should sound. “It’s that grey box with the buttons, the one Kara was trying valiantly to kick toward me.” 

Alex glanced toward Kara, but she had her legs crossed and the skirt down. She waved at Alex with her free hand and tugged with the other to show that she was also stuck. Alex got the fob and handed it to Wells. The metal dropped from her neck and Kara’s wrist. 

“Thank you. That was growing _significantly_ uncomfortable,” Wells said, a hint of smirk crossing her lips. “Next time I will not test new tools without out least putting my phone in my pocket.”

Oblivious, Alex said, “Kara, I’m glad you’re here. There’ve been new developments in the prisoners we’re tracking. Come look at these with me.”

Kara couldn’t. If she could even stand up now, with as jelly as her legs felt … she was sitting in a very obvious spot of wetness on leather not dark enough to hide it.

“Give her a moment and she’ll catch up,” Wells said smoothly. “I put a bit of kryptonite in those and with all the strength she expended trying to get out, I doubt she’s quite ready to stand.” 

“Oh, sure, meet me in the ops room,” Alex said. 

“Be there in a sec!” Kara tried to sound cheerful, but it came out slightly frantic. 

Mercifully, Alex left. Wells stayed facing the door but dropped her hand onto Kara’s shoulder. She spoke quietly enough that Kara could only pick up the words with her super hearing. 

“I suppose you’re fast enough that you could nip down to the restroom and bring yourself off without anyone noticing,” Wells said. 

Kara nodded. She’d been thinking just that. 

“Don’t.”

“What?”

Wells bent down, mouth beside Kara’s early, quieter than a whisper. “You walked in here with your panties off for a reason. I consider that orgasm partially mine. You don’t get to have it without me.” 

“Oh.” Kara rocked down against the seat of the chair, feeling the leather drag against her lips, longing for more sensation.

Wells made a sound of approval, “Huh,” a light breath across her ear. The hand on Kara’s shoulder shifted, fingers curling half around her throat, not tight, but firm; thumb pressing into the back of her neck.

Her mouth was so close, Kara felt Wells’ lips brushing the sensitive curls of her ear as Wells whispered, “If you intend to come in my chair, please do me the courtesy of asking first. … But I think you’d better go see what Alex needs before she interrupts us again.”

Wells stepped away, crossing to her worktable. She regarded Kara evenly, smiling sweetly as she said, “And Kara, don’t forget to put your panties on.”


	7. Chapter 7

Of course being told she couldn’t come without Wells’ permission only made Kara think about that every spare moment of the day—at least all the moments that she wasn’t thinking about her feelings for Wells and what Wells, hopefully, also felt for her. 

And also not the moments when she was fighting villainous aliens, which took up way too much of her time this week. Wells had texted her, suggesting they have a proper date that Friday. Kara didn’t feel the least bit proper, but of course she’d said yes. And now Friday was too far away and all she could think about was sitting in Wells’ armchair without her panties on, getting it a little bit wet and wanting to do a lot more. 

_What was the right way to ask to have an orgasm in Wells’ chair_ , Kara wondered. _No, what was the_ best _way to ask?_

But Kara didn’t want to ask. She wanted to find a way to come in Wells’ chair without asking, ideally while being discovered by Wells in the act. She wanted to be leaning back in that worn leather, warmed by her body, in her supersuit, hand under her skirt, fingers inside herself—and to have Wells walk in and catch her.

This was a lot harder than it seemed because of the location of Wells’ workshop, the fact that she kept her door open and encouraged people to drop in, and the sheer number of people who took her up on that.

Kara tried to stop by Wells’ workshop the next afternoon, when she was supposed to be in a meeting, but somehow Wells was there, standing at her worktable. She’d asked, “Kara, did you need something?” and Kara couldn’t stop herself from looking at that chair. Wells had draped a blanket across the arms and seat—a blanket the exact color of Kara’s skirt.

Kara stammered something, probably nonsensical, and left. At first she thought the blanket was for her in the future, so she wouldn’t stain the chair any further. Then she realized it was to cover the current stain—that Wells hadn’t cleaned it. 

Early the next morning, when she tried to sneak into Wells’ workshop before Wells usually arrived for work, she found the buttoned-up British woman sitting in the chair _under_ the throw blanket. It about killed her.

Plus Wells had asked, “Scone?” and for a moment Kara thought that was some kind of profoundly smutty refernce until she saw the plate of scones and jar of jam on the worktable. 

“What’s difference between a scone and a biscuit?” Kara asked.

“Well, this is a scone. I believe what I call a biscuit you would call a cookie.” The way Wells said it sounded utterly innocent, but with the intensity of her eyes and that accent, also like she was not at all talking about food. “I can bake some if you’d like.”

Kara had a lot of answers about what she'd like and they didn't involve baking. She glanced around the workshop for something more innocent to talk about and asked, " When did you get a refrigerator in here?”

“Oh, I built it. It doubles as a cold shower. For chemical emergencies, of couse.” 

Over lunch, Kara flew home and shook with the effort of not touching herself. She tried a cold shower, but now that also reminded her of Wells. 

That night, she dreamt of Wells standing behind that worktable talking about biscuits and cookies and scones. She got up and slashed cold water on her face, went back to toss restlessly in bed. 

When sleep returned, she had a much more vivid dream. Wells was making a bundt cake with a thick sugar glaze that she dribbled over the curved top, to stream down the golden brown sides in thick, semi-translucent white rivulets. The armchair had been turned to fully face the worktable, Kara sitting in it, watching as Wells dribbled glaze over the cake. 

She couldn’t make out the words Wells said, only the smooth sound of her voice above the hypnotic flow of that wet sugar. The shape of the pan had formed rises and dips around the cake. As a thick, sweet drop inched down one of those valleys, Kara felt an echoing wetness slipping down between her legs. She was in her supersuit without boots, without the panties, her bare bottom on the worn leather of the chair—and she was rubbing herself against it. 

She was supposed to ask something, but what? Could she touch herself? She wanted to but would someone walk in? She pulled her skirt up and rocked her hips. Only the bottom part of her pussy touched the chair, but that warm leather and the motion of her hips was enough to send waves of sensation up the inside of her spine. 

Had Wells noticed? She was cutting slices from the cake, putting them on small plates. She brought one over to the armchair and set it on the broad arm, just in front of where Kara gripped through the leather to the hard metal frame. Kara was grinding against the chair now, unable to talk, willing Wells to touch her. 

Picking up the fork, Wells cut a small bite of the cake, heavy with that gleaming wet sugary glazing. She leaned toward Kara, bracing herself by putting her other hand on the seat of the chair, between Kara’s legs, over the place where the old wet spot had been and a new one was forming. 

Wells held the fork to Kara’s mouth and she closed her lips over it: sweetness, vanilla, hint of spice, cold metal, heady rum, very Wells. As the flavors spread in her mouth, she rocked her hips forward, pressed her hard clit against Wells’ wrist.

With her left hand, Wells placed the empty fork on the plate, steady and deliberate, even as Kara rubbed herself on Wells’ right wrist. She turned her right hand so it was palm up and slid her fingers further under Kara.

Wells cupped Kara’s pussy in her palm and said, “If you’re going to come in my chair …,” And then Kara _was_ coming, slow and dreamlike, pleasure suffusing her body. She stared down in wonder, watching her pussy in Wells hand, her lips parting in slow motion, that translucent icing pulsing out of her to collect in Wells’ palm. Another wave of pleasure went through her and sent fresh dribbles into Wells’ hand, one small drip rolling down her wrist. 

Kara woke still coming or coming again, the orgasm loose and spiraling out of her dream, pulsing along her nerves. She stared at the icing white of her ceiling while lazy ecstacy moved beneath her skin. She rubbed herself lightly, tried to hold onto the image of Wells’ hand cupping her, receiving her. She wanted that to be real, not icing, not dreamy, to come hard in Wells’ hands. She drew out the pleasure as long as she could and drifted back to sleep. 

In the morning, when her alarm went off, she realized that eventually she would have to admit this dream to the real Wells since she’d had that orgasm solo after all. The idea flushed her with embarassment, but didn’t stop, perhaps facilitated, her from touching herself just one more time before going to work.


	8. Chapter 8

Wells had just finished showing J’onn the latest in psi-blocking tech when she saw Kara lurking outside her door. Wells had asked Lena Luthor what the right procedure was in this day and age for wooing someone and been told about a series of three dates, culminating in sex, so she'd texted Kara to set up a date that Friday. She wasn't quite clear if it would count as the first or the second, given how close they'd already become, but figured that was a good topic of conversation for the date itself. But she didn't need to wait until Friday to enjoy Kara's presence; she waved her in.

Kara leaned a hand on the worktable, eyes troubled as she asked, “Can we move our date to tomorrow night?”

“Didn’t Lena invite us both to an L Corp dinner?” 

“Crap. Can we count that as a date? Assuming you’re still on that whole ‘three dates is culturally proper’ thing.”

“Having trouble waiting?” Wells couldn’t resist teasing, though in truth she was having trouble herself. She regretting suggesting they wait until the third date for sex—after all, she saw Kara every day, it’s not like they didn’t have time to get to know each other—but having said it, she was too proud to back down.

Kara glanced at the open door. J’onn stood right outside it, talking with two DEO officers. She came around the worktable and leaned on it, hands in the dents that fit her fingers perfectly. 

“I did something,” she whispered.

“Bad?” Wells asked lightly, half-joking, since nothing Kara could do would be all that bad. 

Kara leaned closer, her hair almost brushing the shoulder of Wells’ jacket. It was a thin gray jacket, easy to roll up the sleeves and keep out of the way while she was working, warm enough and, now, thick enough to cover the way her nipples had tightened as the scent of Kara’s hair enfolded her.

Kara looked at the floor, hair falling to half cover her face, and whispered, “That thing you told me not to do, I did. But in a dream. And you were there too, so it’s not that bad.” 

Wells turned sideways, leaning her hip against the table, facing Kara, arms folded to help with not reaching out and pulling her close. How she could be both so cute and so hot while admitting to having had the forbidden orgasm—it defied rationality.

“Really?” Wells asked.

“I didn’t mean to. It was a dream. It was an _accident_ ,” Kara said. She took in a long breath and peeked over her shoulder, confirming that J’onn was outside the room, before adding, “But also it happened in your chair, the one right over there, and you didn’t say that was okay, not even in the dream. And, um, it happened a lot. But it was cake icing.”

Kara didn’t know that the workshop was shielded against telepathy, so J’onn couldn’t read their minds, which was important right now, since Wells had a very clear image of Kara climaxing in her chair: the chair reclined back, Kara’s superskirt rucked up around her waist, Wells mouth on top of her panties, too impatient to push them aside, licking her through them, feeling Kara’s wetness and the moisture on Wells’ tongue mingling in the fabric over her crotch.

Kara might know about the low level white noise broadcast near the door that made it very hard to overhear conversations in here, but Wells hoped she’d forgotten because that made this more fun. 

“You had my orgasm in my chair without my permission?” she asked and saw Kara flinch slightly at the word “orgasm,” her cheeks darkening. Kara’s eyes darted to one side but she didn’t turn to look, probably unsure if J’onn could hear them or not, wondering if she should trust Wells and speak freely, just the right amount of worry that they could be overheard.

“I couldn’t help it,” Kara whispered. “I was asleep.” 

“Why don’t you tell me this dream and I’ll be the judge of whether or not you could help yourself?”

She watched Kara square her shoulders, tighten her jaw. The white noise only covered conversations inside the workshop, so they could both hear J’onn talking right outside the door. Would Kara be brazen enough for this? 

“You baked a cake,” Kara said, in a louder, defiant whisper. “With a lot of really creamy icing, that sugar kind that’s mostly clear with a little bit of white, that looks like, you know … and you were just dripping it all over the cake while I had to sit in the chair and watch.” 

“That must’ve been very hard for you,” Wells said, too aware of how hard this was for her, how swollen and hard and wet she was getting listening to Kara. 

“I got very wet,” Kara admitted. “And I wasn’t wearing any panties. I pulled up my skirt and I could see that I was starting to get your chair wet again. In that same spot. You know, how the leather gets all dark and shiny.” 

“I do know. Did you get it very wet when you came?”

If Wells said “oh screw it” about the date, how fast could Kara fly them out of here and to someplace private? She pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth and thought about how it would feel to jerk Kara’s panties out of the way and have Kara’s clit between her lips, find out if it was as hard and sensitive as Wells felt right now.

Kara said, “No … because you walked over with a slice of cake and fed me a bite of it. And you put your other hand just there, um, between my legs, over that spot.”

“Was the cake good?” 

“Yeah, really good. 

“And are you asserting that it was the quality of my baking and the presence of my hand between your legs that absolves you of responsibility for losing control and coming?”

“Helena, hold out your hand, palm up.” 

“Left or right?” 

“Right.” 

Wells did and braced her left hand against the worktable because her knees were not feeling particularly solid at the moment. Kara touched the center of her palm with the tip of her middle finger. “You put this hand under me, like this. And when I came, that sugary icing flowed out of me, into your palm, right here.” 

Wells shuddered with need and the effort of not kissing Kara. The workshop might prevent J’onn from hearing their whispered conversation, but he would definitly notice kissing and all the actions that would follow from it—because once Wells started, she didn’t intend to stop. She wasn’t sure she even cared that much about what J’onn thought, but she hadn’t been to HR to find out what she had to do about a workplace relationship. And dammit, she was over a hundred, she should be able to control herself. 

Except Kara was still whispering, “I came in your hand and it was so much that this big dribble of it went here, over your wrist.” Her finger moved to Wells' wrist. “If I hadn’t woken up, I’d have gotten icing all over your chair and all over you.” 

Wells' clit throbbed and she was definitely icing her own undergarments at the moment. Was Kara as wet? Was she soaking through her panties, the way she had that day with the vibrating drone? 

“What did you do when you woke up?” Wells managed to ask, so obviously breathless that she saw the corners of Kara’s lips quirk up. 

“I was still coming and then I touched myself and came again. I was so wet, just like the dream, all over my pussy and the tops of my thighs. It was so easy to come again, I just put my hand down there and it slipped around in all that wet and … that’s okay, isn’t it? That second one was mine, right?”

“I don’t think so. Would you have had it if you hadn’t dreamed about me putting my hand between your legs?”

“No,” Kara said, almost sullen but still with a smirk on her lips. “But I wouldn’t have had _any_ of them if you didn’t make us wait.” 

“Any? How many in total?”

“Three. I fell back asleep and when my alarm went off I was still so wet and I wanted you so much. I only put my fingers there to see if I could really be that wet and they just slipped inside. Not very far.”

Wells had to close her eyes and take a very deep breath. She hadn’t quite realized the awe-inspiring extent of Kara’s bad-girl streak. Plus she wanted to put her fingers where Kara’s had been. How bad could it be if they blew off the rest of the workday, went back to one of their apartments and talked to HR afterward? Because she’d really like her first orgasm with Kara to _not_ be coming untouched in her pants at her worktable with J’onn right outside the door—but this was definitely the direction they were headed. 

Kara stroked her finger from Wells wrist to her palm, saying, “Just this finger and one other, that was enough.” 

Wells curled her fingers around Kara’s and held tightly, “You’ve been quite the bad girl. We’re going to have to work on your control.” 

“You don’t know how hard it is to see you every day and we’ve been so busy and I just …I want you so much … if J’onn wasn’t going to walk in here in two minutes …”

When Kara said J’onn’s name, Wells glanced toward the doorway, hoping he’d be gone and she could close the door, lock it, push Kara down in that chair and get it a lot wetter … but he was still there and saw her looking. 

He put his head through the doorway and said, “Helena, if you’re done chatting with Kara, we do have a few more questions.”

She held up her free hand in the “wait a sec” gesture, clenched her teeth, said to Kara, “Let’s count tomorrow night as a date then. If I understand Lena correctly, after our third date it’s appropriate for me to make you come in my chair and all the other places I have in mind. We’ll have to decide if that’s tomorrow night or Friday.” 

“That’s so not fair,” Kara pouted. “Friday is days away. If I can’t come, then you can’t either, and also … you can’t eat in here.”

“Can’t I?”

“No,” Kara said. “Not without my permission. No eating in the workshop unless you ask.”

“But I can bake?”

“Yeah, but I’d better not catch you eating any of it in here. You can’t even taste things.”

Wells peeked at the doorway. J’onn wasn’t looking. She brought Kara’s fingertips to her lips and kissed them. “Maybe I’ll get to taste something in my dreams.” 


	9. Chapter 9

 

Kara hated waiting. But she liked the old fashioned gallantry of Wells’ desire to do things properly. 

Of course, that evening when Kara stopped by the lab, Wells was sitting at the worktable pouring over pages of notes with a lollipop in her mouth. 

Kara walked in and pulled it out of her mouth, leaving Wells with a smug smirk. 

“I told you, no food,” Kara said.

Wells insisted, “It’s not food; it’s candy.”

Kara put the lollipop in her mouth. The flavor blossomed on her tongue, very butterscotch. “Hm, I guess you’re right,” and walked out with it.

*

The next morning, Wells was under the worktable ratcheting something. A half-drunk smoothie sat on top of the table, sweating heavily, like Wells had been sipping it slowly, just waiting for Kara to show up. 

Kara put the straw to her lips and sipped. Not bad, green-forward but with citrus notes. When Wells stood up, Kara still had the straw in her mouth. She took another sip and put it down, headed for the door, saying, “That’s not food; it’s kale.”

She forced herself not to look back, but her superhearing picked up Wells sipping the smoothie, her lips where Kara’s had been a moment earlier. 

*

That afternoon, Kara managed to intercept a pizza delivery guy on the way to the workshop and walked in holding the pizza box in one hand, eating a slice held in the other. She settled into the armchair and ate three slices while watching Wells work.

*

Thursday night! Only one more night to this proper date and then, Rao willing, Wells would take her home. Kara stopped by the DEO, checked in with Alex and J’onn, made her way to the workshop.

Wells sat in the armchair with a book open in her lap, cradling a pint of ice cream. She glanced up, smiled at Kara, dug a large spoonful out of the container. The flavor was dulce de leche, a creamy white ice cream with thick rivers of dark golden caramel through it. Kara couldn’t help but see how close the ice cream was to the color of Wells’ skin and how the caramel had the same hue as the golden glow that came off Kara’s skin as it stored the power of Earth’s sun.

This particular spoonful had the caramel oozing over the ice cream. Wells put it in her mouth and grinned around the handle of the spoon. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Kara strode across the room and pulled the spoon away, now bare of ice cream. Leaning across the arm of the chair, she turned Wells’ face to her and kissed her, pushing her tongue into Wells’ mouth and the cold sweetness there. Almost startled and so grateful to feel the firm warmth of Wells’ tongue on hers.

Wells turned, hands gripping Kara’s shoulders, pulling at her, kissing back hungrily, the last of the ice cream melting to liquid in their mouths. Kara swallowed fast and returned to the kiss, climbing over the arm of the chair. She turned and Wells tugged at her and she made it into Wells’ lap without breaking the kiss. 

Deep into the kissing, it took a while for Kara to notice the cold, sticky feeling spreading across her lap and down her thighs. She pulled away, panting. Wells glanced down first and was already laughing when Kara saw the pint of ice cream that had melted and tipped sideways. It had fallen with its base against Wells’ belly and gone sideways over the top of Kara’s thigh, spilling white cream and thick caramel across her skirt and down between her legs. 

She couldn’t open her legs very far, the way she was sitting with them draped over the arm of the chair, but just enough to see rivulets of white and dark gold streaming down her thighs and soaking into the dark gray fabric of Wells' pants. 

Wells saw the same, and felt it, because she said in a low purr, “You are getting me very wet, Kara. And more than a little sticky.” 

“Oh no,” Kara managed in mock horror, though Wells’ words and tone left her breathless. “I should clean this up right away. Maybe with my tongue?”

Wells made a needy, affirmative sound.

And then, of course, the damned alarm went off. 

Wells sighed. “Go save the world. If I’m not here when you get back, forget what I said about proper dates, will you come to my place?”

“Yes, I’d love that.” Kara kissed her again, quickly and hard, and levitated out of her lap. “Don’t … _do anything_ until I get back,” Kara insisted.

Wells dragged a finger through the liquid ice cream that had collected on the seat of the chair and put it in her mouth. “I am going to eat _so many things_ in my workshop.”

Kara sped to the bathroom to wash the ice cream off her suit and go save the world, but she heard Wells say under her breath, “Don’t worry, Kara, you’re on that list.”


	10. Chapter 10

Wells didn't remember falling asleep at her worktable—if she’d known she was that tired, she'd have moved to the armchair. She came awake to the feel of lips on the back of her neck, which more that made up for the poor pillowing her arms made on the hard worktable surface. The comforting, arousing smell of Kara’s hair surrounded her.

Kara scooped her up and carried her to the armchair, settled her into it and leaned it back until the chair was nearly horizontal. She picked up the blanket from the floor where it had fallen, shook it out and was pulling it over Wells. But Wells caught Kara’s wrist and tugged.

“I’m awake,” Wells said. “Come here.”

The armchair wasn’t quite as wide as a twin bed, sufficient for one person to get a workable night’s sleep, not big enough for two, but Wells moved until her shoulder pressed into one of the padded wings and Kara slid in, sideways, beside her and the chair’s other wing and arm.

Kara found her lips before fully settling into the chair, so for the first minute their kisses were loose and awkward, until they could fit their legs together, bring their bodies close. Kara’s leg rested between hers, one of hers between Kara’s feeling the intense heat there through Kara’s jeans, through Wells’ trousers.

Wells got an arm under Kara, around her waist. She pushed her other hand up under Kara’s sweater, but the blanket tangled around her elbow. While she freed herself, Kara pulled off her sweater and bra, revealing golden skin, breasts larger than they seemed in her uniform, and light brown, almost bronze nipples. Wells caught one in her mouth and teased it until she needed to feel Kara’s tongue against hers once more.

As their kissing deepened, Kara rubbed harder against her. Wells ran a hand down the outside of Kara’s thigh and felt her try to go still, though she was quivering. She brought her fingers up the inside, along the seam, pressing the seam at Kara’s crotch.

Wells hair had come loose from its bun and Kara buried her face in it, kissing the base of Wells’ throat while small, needy sounds rose from her. “Helena, please.”

Wells found the button on Kara’s jeans and popped it open, tugged down her zipper. She had barely enough space to angle her arm and slide her fingers down—the teasing had gone on long enough—between Kara’s skin and the thin fabric of her panties. No more teasing. And just in time, it seemed.

“You’re so wet,” Wells whispered. “When did you start thinking about this?”

“When I was flying home,” Kara said with a little groan. “I took a shower and I could barely wash down there, I was so sensitive, but I didn’t want to … you know, to come without you.”

“Good girl,” Wells said, then worried it was too much, but Kara shivered.

Wells moved the tips of her fingers around Kara’s lips, gently between them, that heavy wetness sliding easily down her skin. She brought it up to Kara’s clit, unable to move much because of the angle of her arm, but Kara took care of that, grinding against her, making soft, “Oh,” sounds.

“Can I?” Kara asked.

“I’ve no doubt that you can, but I think you meant to ask, ‘may I?’”

Kara whimpered and pressed closer, her body shaking—not yet with orgasm, but with the effort of not having one. Wells remembered this shaking for the day with the drone. She remembered all her regrets at not having put her hand in Kara’s panties then—and slid her hand further in, so the base of her thumb pressed Kara’s clit and the tips of her fingers slipped easily between Kara’s lips. Not far enough to truly enter her, but right at that sensitive, swollen, so wet entrance.

Her fingers were already soaked from the wetness that had gathered in Kara’s panties. She must’ve soaked through the cotton and started to dampen the denim of her jeans.

“How many times did you come by yourself after I said you couldn’t?” Wells asked, though she knew the answer. “How many do you owe me?”

“Three,” Kara groaned. Her hips worked without her control, thrusting and rubbing her clit against Wells thumb. Little gasps of breath puffed against Wells neck.

“Show me how good you can be,” Wells murmured. She worked her hand another inch into the tight bind of Kara’s jeans, two fingers slipping easily into her silken warmth. “Come for me.”

Kara pressed her lips hard against Wells shoulder to muffle her groans. Her hips bucked, shudders running through her body. Muscles rippled around Wells fingers, sending fresh bursts of wetness down her hand, spilling over the sides of her palm. With the arm she had around Kara’s back, she held onto her while she curved her fingers and pressed into that rough, sensitive spot inside Kara.

She held on, pressing her hand gently against Kara, well after the tremors subsided. Just holding her, feeling her body relax in waves. After a while, she drew her hand away and pulled the blanket higher, let them doze until she felt Kara move restlessly and plant a line of kisses up the side of her neck.

Wells tugged on Kara’s leg, guiding her until she was straddling Wells’ hips. “Let me see you,” Wells said. “Sit up.”

Kara did. There was a small, dark wet spot on Kara’s jeans. Wells touched it, pressed in, felt more of the wetness soak into the fabric. It was all through Kara’s panties now, she had to feel the cotton clinging to her, holding that hot wetness against her skin.

Wells ran her hands along Kara’s thighs, kneading, thumbs finding the inner seams of her jeans and following them up and down. Kara had her hands on the wingback part of the chair, leaning forward, hair falling around her face, eyes wild and needy.

“You’re getting your jeans wet,” Wells said.

“I could take them off,” Kara suggested. “Superfast, even.”

“Oh no, I like how you look in jeans. Especially like this.” Wells reached up and put her hands on Kara’s breasts, playing with the nipples that had tighted at her first touch. “Your zipper open like that, your panties such a mess. And this,” she ran a finger along the seam at Kara’s crotch, “has to be reminding you of how wet you are, how much you came already. Do you remember telling me about that dream you had when you came frosting into my hand and how badly you teased me with that? I think this is only fair.”

“It isn’t,” Kara gasped.

“Do you know how hard it was for me not to come? I really needed to go change my underpants after that conversation, but I couldn’t. I had to go through an entire, very serious, conversation with J’onn with my underpants extremely wet, feeling that wet against my skin, remembering your words. I don’t think we’ve gotten your jeans quite wet enough yet. Come here.”

Wells put her hands on Kara’s ass and tugged upward. Kara shuffled her knees along the sides of the chair as Wells scooted herself lower until her mouth was under that widening dark spot in the center of Kara’s jeans.

She pressed her tongue against it and heard Kara groan, felt the tension in her body as she held onto the chair.

Wells licked the denim, knowing it was tight enough that Kara would feel all the strokes of her tongue. To make sure, she put her thumb against that wet spot, the place where Kara’s lips came together, the base of her entrance, pressing the wet fabric tightly against her. The middle seam pressed between her lips, the fabric outlining two swollen rises. Wells licked around and between them. She could almost suck on them and kept trying, even though she knew she wouldn’t get enough suction; the failed attempts were making Kara whimper and rock her hips.

Then she put her hand fully under Kara’s lips and entrance, a loose fist pressing the damp denim—and moved her mouth up toward Kara’s clit. With her other hand, she pushed down the edge of Kara’s panties and the base of the jeans’ zipper just enough to reach Kara’s clit with her tongue. She flicked it gently and felt Kara shake.

“Hold on,” Wells said. “You can come when you must, but hold on as long as you can.”

Kara’s moan suggested “as long as you can” wasn’t going to be very long. Wells played the tip of her tongue around Kara’s clit and then across it, while Kara rocked down on the hand between her legs. She almost had her lips around Kara’s hard, swollen clit, when Kara put a hand on her open fly, shoving it down further, pressing her clit to Wells’ mouth. Spine arching, clit pulsing, Wells lapping at it, trying to get her tongue lower—but it was her hand that felt the strength of Kara’s climax, felt her cunt pulsing, felt the helpless wetness soaking through the denim across her fingers.

She went on licking gently as Kara slumped forward, panting, still making soft, moaned, “Oh” sounds of surprise and pleasure.

Wells wriggled up the chair until she could hold Kara, feel the last shivers coursing through her body.

Hazily, Kara’s fingers unbuttoned Wells shirt, slipped inside and found her breast through the light, mesh bra. She teased a nipple to hardness and then pushed the shirt aside so she could suck on it. She made it maddeningly hard, almost painful, before she pushed Wells’ shirt open wider and did the same with her other breast.

Kara’s fingers trailed down to the button on Wells’ trousers as she asked, “Can I do that to you?”

“Yes, I’d like that. But like this,” Wells said. She zipped up the fly of Kara’s jeans and slid the button through its hole.

Kara’s eyes were wide with surprise and a kind of joyful fury. She put her fingers over the waistband of Wells’ pants. “Are these pants important to you?”

“They’re expendable.”

Kara slid down the chair to kneel on the floor and lean over the raised footpad. She tore Wells’ pants apart and her underpants, leaving Wells in only the cream-colored mesh bra with her light blue button-down shirt wide open around it.

“I think you should be right here,” Kara said, putting her hands on Wells’ hips and pulling her down a few inches so her legs opened on the dark stain near the front of the chair’s seat—the one Kara had made the day the alien restraints had gone wrong but so very right. Wells remembered Kara blushing and playing with herself, making Wells watch.

With the chair reclined back and Wells most of the way to the edge of the seat, Kara could easily push her legs open further—and did.

“You’re pretty wet too,” Kara said, teasingly. “When did you start thinking about me?”

“Months ago.” The words came out roughly.

“You couldn’t have been wet all this time.”

“No, I took care of things quite a few times. But after you told me also not to come … I’ve gone through a lot of underpants.”

“Oh I’m so sorry,” Kara said, not meaning it at all. “Let me see if I can just clean you up.”

Her tongue licked a long, firm stroke up between Wells lips, making Wells’ back arch with pleasure and need, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. When she could think again, she touched the button to raise the back of the chair slightly, just enough to be able to look down and see Kara kneeling between her legs.

Kara’s fingers spread her lips and the girl smirked up at her. “Oh no, I’ve made things worse. I think you’re going to get your chair all wet.”

She slid a finger into Wells—watching her face the whole time—curled it to collect more wetness and then rubbed that into the leather of the chair.

The view was spectacular: Kara kneeling, leaning forward with her chest on the chair’s footrest so Wells caught glimpses of her breasts pressed together, the curving slope of Kara’s back, the roundness of her ass in those jeans—and the way her ass moved as she made small adjustments, trying to get comfortable in her wet jeans and failing, shifting from one side to another, pressing her legs together, trying to rub herself on the edge of the chair and not quite reaching.

“I can see you pressing your legs together,” Wells said, as evenly as she could manage. “You’re still wetter than I am. You have to feel it, all that soaked fabric against you. I think you’re going to come again before I do.”

“I am not,” Kara said, mostly petulance but also soft, gasping desire.

She put her mouth on Wells in earnest then, licking hard, sucking, running her tongue between those slick lips and into Wells, adding her fingers. Wells was so gone she could barely focus. She needed to come so badly, especially in Kara’s mouth, but was still coiled inside herself, not ready to let go, needing one more thing to force her over that edge and make her come.

“Kara, you have to be right there, on the edge; I know you can’t hold it.”

Kara shook her head, with her mouth on Wells’ clit.

Wells caught the wrist of Kara’s hand—the one with two fingers inside her—and said, “More.”

Kara pulled out far enough to add a third finger, enough width that Wells could feel that perfect stretch and the rub of Kara’s knuckles and she pushed in, drew back, pushed in again.

“I know you’re going to come,” Wells said, words choppy because she could barely catch her breath enough to talk. Wells was so close; not at the edge but on top of it, riding that harsh, burning pleasure, unable to let go.

Kara shook her head again and murmured, “No,” the word a vibration around Wells’ clit.

“You soaked your jeans when I was barely touching you. You can’t control yourself.”

Kara was moaning, shaking her head against Wells, her free hand sneaking down to press between her legs, as if she could hold back her orgasm. But at the same time, Wells could feel through the movement of Kara’s body, Kara was rubbing herself. Time for a slightly different tactic.

“I’m so close,” Wells breathed out the words. “So close. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back. Oh Kara, is it okay if I come in your mouth?”

Kara’s body spasmed against the hand pressed between her legs, her tongue loose and uncontrolled on Wells, fingers twitching inside her, sounds rising and falling as she tried to keep her focus and lost it to the shuddering ecstasy rising through her.

And Wells was gone. Arching up, body releasing, narrowing to only the flow of pleasure down through her, the press of Kara’s mouth agasint the most sensitive parts of her. She lost track of everything outside of that joy and wonder.

When her eyes could focus again, she saw Kara grinning up at her in between planting small kisses on her belly. Kara drew her fingers slowly out of Wells, glistening with thick liquid. She painted it lazily on the seat of the chair, rubbing it into the leather.

“You got your chair a lot wetter than I did,” she murmured.

“Take off your jeans and get up here.”

Kara laughed, standing up. She turned away from Wells, feet slightly apart and bent forward so Wells could see the full extent of the wet spot—as Kara slowly unbuttoned her jeans and worked the zipper down.

But then she stopped and pulled the zipper back up.

“Are you going to leave those on to make a point?” Wells asked.

“I thought about it,” Kara said with a smirk. She leaned over and plucked her shirt off the floor, shrugging it on. “But this is so I don’t flash Capital City from the sky. I love your workshop, but I'm really ready for a bed. Do you want to wrap up in that blanket and I’ll take us to … your appartment or mine?

“Mine,” Wells said. “I have a full fridge and more toys.”

“Oh.”

“We do agree that we’re both calling in sick, yes?”

“Oh yes.”

Wells had had a lot of lovers in her many decades, with a great many high points, but being flown across a city by one while the blaze of her orgasm still kindled in her nerves—definitely very high on the list.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who waited patiently for this chapter and the payoff of the "It's a __ that doubles as a ___" joke.

Most recent emergency handled, Kara went back to her apartment for a quick shower and to change into something cute. She texted Wells: _come by your place?_

Wells didn’t answer, probably asleep, so Kara went by Wells’ apartment, but she wasn’t there. That meant she had to be still at the DEO. She knew that a lot of nights if there were emergencies happening, Wells just kicked back her big armchair and slept in it. And apparently the refrigerator that doubled as an emergency shower was good enough because Wells never looked rumpled in the morning.

That hadn’t happened in the few weeks they’d been dating. But now Kara wanted to catch her sleeping in that big chair, see her with her hair all a mess, wake her up with a kiss.

When she got there, the workshop was empty except for a plate of cookies, or biscuits, or whatever—the oatmeal ones covered in chocolate—and a note that said: _Kara, I’ll be back._

Kara sighed, put two cookies on a napkin and dropped into the chair. She should be tired—since it was almost 2 a.m.—but wasn’t.

She could read something. What was Wells reading? Probably this copy of _The Fifth Season_ sideways on the shelf in front of a very old-looking, very leather-bound, slightly askew copy of _Moby Dick_.

Askew? Really? Really. Kara pulled _Moby Dick_ off the shelf. There was space behind it. And a long box. She moved enough books out of the way so she could pull the box into her lap and open it.

Pretty sure that was some kind of high-tech sex toy. It did look exactly the way you’d expect a high-tech dildo to look, but Kara was still trying to figure out what else it could be when Wells walked through the door.

 

*

 

The sight of Kara in her chair would’ve been enough to stop Wells, just to appreciate the shine of her hair against the deep brown leather. There was always something otherworldly about her, even tonight in jeans and a sweater. Plus Wells loved thoughtful pout of her lips, the little crease in her brow.

“You look uncertain,” Wells said.

“What else does this do? I mean, what does it double as? Everything you make does more than one thing.”

Wells ducked her face, then made herself look up, not hide the slight blush. “I made a dildo that doubles as a double dildo. Do you find that—what do people say these days?—too meta?”

“Oh,” Kara breathed. She wasn’t completely sure what a double dildo was, but very much wanted Wells to show her. “Does it work?”

“I believe so. I haven’t tested it yet. I thought we could together.”

Kara grinned. “How do you put it on?”

“The long part and the base both telescope and there’s a soft hinge in the middle, so I can settle the base, when it becomes the short end, somewhat inside me and hinge the longer end … you’re not actually asking me, are you?”

Kara shook her head.

“All right, I’ll put it on,” Wells said. “No phone booth jokes.”

She went into the portion of her refrigerator that doubled as a shower, just for the privacy. The awkwardness of putting on the dildo that doubled as a double dildo could counteract some of the sexiness of wearing it.

As luck would have it—not luck, really, as much as Wells’ desire to test this device sooner rather than later—she was wearing the boxer brief harness that easily held it in place. Slipping pants and briefs down, she pushed the long end of the dildo through the o-ring in the briefs, hinged it down, rested the short end between her lips that were already wet at the thought of using this with Kara.

Then she could snug the briefs into place and pull her trousers back up with the dildo pointing somewhat obviously down her leg. The hinge was working just as it should: opening down and rotating so the long side could rest along her leg, thinly attached to the short side, but not bulking up her crotch. Later she could pull the long side out and foreward, engage the hinge’s locking mechanism, and have it stand out from her body for an optimal fucking angle, but not quite yet.

Of course as soon as she stepped out of the fridge-shower, Kara noticed the bulge down Wells' leg.

“I hope you weren’t ever planning to wear that out in public,” she said, beaming.

“I thought about it,” Wells admitted. “But in that scenario, I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh.”

“So are you.”

“Oh! Yes, please!”

“Do you want to fly us home to change or do you agree we should test this in its current state first?”

Kara moved from the armchair to the ottoman and patted the seat of the armchair. Since she hadn’t slid the ottoman away from the chair, Wells had to sit with her legs open, knees on either side of Kara. This made the bulge of the dildo alongside her inner thigh even more obvious.

Kara ran her fingers along it. “So it’s double, which means some of this in inside you?”

“Yes, only a bit now, but it expands some, in both directions, as it warms up and senses motion.”

“Like this?” Kara asked, curling her fingers and tugging gently at its length.

Wells felt the short side blossom up inside her, maybe an inch, and pressed her hips down, head back, wanting more. Kara tugged harder, back and forth, pushing the inner end farther in and then tugging it down a fraction before pushing again.

“It _is_ getting bigger in my hand. I like this. And wet!”

“What?” Wells glanced down, half-alarmed.

Kara took her hand away, showing a small wet spot at the tip.

“Oh bother, it’s calibrated wrong,” Wells said, shorter of breath than she’d planned for the lecture part of this show-and-tell. “It’s supposed to take my wetness into an internal reservoir and let it out when it feels my muscle contractions.”

“And that’s not what’s happening?” Kara sounded a lot more innocent than she looked.

“It is. Only it’s supposed to wait for harder contractions closer together.”

“So … when you come?” Kara asked.

“That was the idea.”

“That’s fantastic. I want to see it.”

“Then we should probably get my pants off,” Wells said.

“Not yet.”

“You’re trying to get revenge for that time I didn’t let you take your jeans off,” Wells grumbled.

“And made me come in them repeatedly and get completely soaked. I think this is more than fair. Plus you’re wearing light gray and it darkens so well with this … oh look, there’s a bit more wet. So this is coming right from inside you?”

“It is.”

“All the way down this long, and getting longer, shaft?” Kara asked, stroking harder as she did.

Wells groaned. “Yes.”

“You must be really, really wet. Just so wet inside. If you didn’t have this device on, this dark gray spot would be right here.” Kara rubbed her fingers between Wells’ legs, up at her crotch, pushing the short side of the dildo in from its hinged base.

Wells rocked down against Kara’s fingers, wanting more.

“So this part is the base of the half inside you,” Kara said, punctuating her words with more gentle strokes. “And then there’s this turn where the long part goes down your leg, but am I right that the base of the longer half hits right on your clit?”

“You are. And it’s … textured.”

“Oh, so when I push and pull on the long part, it’s rubbing your clit just right, plus moving the part inside you, but when I also press here, it’s moving inside you even harder. Truly a genius invention, Helena.”

Kara had one hand on the length down Wells’ thigh, stroking harder and faster, pressing on the upstroke so it rubbed thoroughly against her clit, and her other thumb assisting, pressing the base of the short side harder into Wells.

“I don’t think this is absorbing all your wetness,” Kara said, smirking. “Because my thumb is starting to feel pretty damp.”

“There was some lubricant inside the dildo,” Wells managed to say, despite her quickened, panting breath. “In case we ever needed it. But it’s not supposed to come out unless it senses friction.”

“Maybe it’s the friction of your pants,” Kara said, gathering material in her fingers and bunching it into Wells’ crotch. “Oh yes, that is so wet and slippery. How much lube is in here?”

“Clearly too much.”

“I don’t think so.”

Wells put the back of her head against the armchair and lost herself to the feel of Kara’s fingers and the obviously too-clever and questionably-calibrated device between them. By paying attention to the reactions she got from Wells, Kara quickly figured out the right strokes and tugs to hit all the best places inside and out.

“Look,” Kara told her.

She was smoothing fabric out from Wells crotch, soaked dark gray to the tops of her thighs and extending down to the seat of the chair. Seeing the sodden crotch of her trousers framed in Kara’s hands, Wells shivered, nipples tight against her bra, clit hard and straining for more.

Even if Kara hadn’t felt that telltale shiver, she definitely saw the length down Wells’ thigh twitch as it extended another fraction of an inch, and release such a spurt of wetness that it came through the fabric and slipped down the outside, darkening the light gray as it went.

“You’re going to come in your pants,” Kara teased with bright joy. Then she echoed Well’s words to her in this same chair weeks ago, “You can’t control yourself.”

“It’s not me that’s the problem,” Wells grumbled. “It’s calibrated wrong.”

“Oh, really?” Kara pulled off her sweater.

A red bra showed off her breasts to their fullest. It was easy to forget with her compressing Supergirl uniform how big her breasts actually were. She didn’t dress to emphasize them except sometimes around Wells.

Kara hit the lever at the side of the armchair that reclined it some, then pulled Wells to the edge of the seat. Shoving the ottoman out of the way, she knelt between Wells’ legs and turned far enough to press one of those fulll, heavy breasts right there, into her crotch.

The pressure of Kara’s breast thrust the short side of the dildo deeper into Wells and shoved the long side snug agaisnt her leg. Wells’ head went back, sight blurring. Her fingers locked around the arms of the chair as she tried not to just fuck herself against Kara’s breast.

“You’re going to soak my bra,” Kara purred. “Look how pretty is it wet.”

She drew back enough for Wells to glance down and see where the red fabric had gone burgundy and clung to Kara’s round skin and very erect nipple. Her other breast rested on top of Wells’ thigh, and Wells imagined she could feel that hard nipple through the bra and her trousers—could feel it drag across the fabric as Kara settled into place between her legs.

Wells’ hips moved, opening, feeling the whole fullness of Kara’s breast between her legs, the way it forced the dildo into her. She moaned and rocked and felt her need and pleasure rise toward that point where should couldn’t stop this. Maybe if she just … could get her pants unbuttoned. She reached for her belt and fumbled it open. Took the first button in her fingers, which where too close to Kara’s mouth, so she covered them with little kisses.

“Oh no,” Kara murmured between kisses. “I don’t think you’re going to make it. All those buttons. If only you weren’t trapped in your pants, you could come across my breasts.”

Wells groaned in frustration and alarm because she’d hit that point of no return, felt the pressure cresting inside her, fumbled harder at the button.

“You want that,” Kara purred. “To pull out your big, fancy device and pour your wetness all over my breasts. Does it come out in spurts or all in a flood?”

Wells didn’t have to answer that—couldn’t—because it was coming out, she was coming, gouts of her own wetness mixed with all the lube left in the dildo, bursting through the fabric of her trousers, soaking Kara’s bra and the chair, running down her own leg, making her come so hard she clenched her teeth around the sounds, not quite muffled, the strangled shouts.

Kara surged forward, arms slipping between Wells’ waist and the back of the chair to encircle her, cheek on Wells’ belly, Kara’s belly between Wells’ shaking legs. Wells curled forward and pressed her lips to Kara’s hair as the last shudders of orgasm went through her.

As they settled together, Wells tipped Kara face up and kissed her mouth, her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her mouth some more. They murmurred soft, not-quite-words that they both knew the meaning of anyway.

“We ruined your pants,” Kara said, with no small amount of glee.

“And sucessfullly performed our first test.”

“Don’t you dare change the calibration. It is perfect. And … it’s still really big, it’s not shrinking back down.”

“It doesn’t until I press a button near the hinge. I’m not a guy. I designed for our pleasure, not their limitations. Do you think you’ll let me get my trousers open now?” Wells asked with a grin.

“Maybe.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently neither Kara, nor the author, can stop playing with Wells' latest invention.

What had been so hot about the other day in Wells’ workshop? The question haunted Kara for days.

Was it the juxtaposition of Wells delicate femininity with that solid length in her pants? Or all that wet material? Kara definitely had a thing for a wet clothes, though the thought made her blush. She loved how all that wetness made obvious the effect she had on Wells. The way Wells’ fingers had fumbled and struggled at the buttons on her pants because she’d been too overcome to work them properly.

She wanted to keep playing with Wells’ genius double dildo invention, but wasn’t sure she wanted it inside her … at least not yet. But playing with it in other ways seemed both too kinky and too innocent.

Kara needed less sleep than Wells—they joked that this was from Kara being well under a hundred years old, though Wells still looked like she was in her 40s—which meant that after Wells brought the double dildo home, Kara had time to inspect it in the early morning hours. She reverently took it out of its box and turned it in her hands. Some parts of it had to be metal, but the length and the base were dense, soft, deep blue silicone. She had to press into it to feel the metal core.

The base hinged up from the length and she could see the nub on the base that would rub Wells’ clit if she used it like a regular dildo—or would extend inside her in the double dildo format.

Wells had showed her the tiny, inset crescent buttons near the hinge. They’d been designed to be activated by a fingernail, to avoid them being accidentally hit during vigorous sex. One button locked the length of the dildo in the forward position, one activated its ability to lengthen in both directions, but this third one?

When Kara pressed it, a small hole opened into the long part of the dildo. So that’s how more lube could be added! She grinned, retrieved the bottle from the drawer of the nightstand, and refilled it completely. Presumably, Wells meant the lube to last for multiple uses, because there was plenty of room for it.

With effort, she put everything back where she’d found it and slipped into bed beside the still sleeping, unearthly beautiful Helena Wells.

*

Kara woke up first again and had coffee brewing and cinnamon rolls on the counter by the time Wells got up. Wells walked into the kitchen wearing a blue tank top and gray lounge pants—and smilingly accepted the hot mug Kara offered.

Kara was in shorts—the ones that Wells said made her ass look spectacular—and her well-worn Captain Marvel logo T-shirt. (Captain Marvel from the comic books, not Shazam.)

She waited until Wells got halfway through her coffee and roll before saying, “I don’t think we’ve tested your latest invention enough.” Feeling the heat in her cheeks, Kara got more creamer out of the fridge and put it into her coffee, that didn’t need it.

“These are women’s sleep pants, I’m not sure it will fit,” Wells said. “But we do well with experiments. Did you mean now?”

“If you want to.”

In answer, Wells took the new toy into the bathroom and returned a moment later with a bulge in the front of her pants.

Kara kissed her, pressing her back against the wall between kitchen and bathroom, pushing one leg between Wells’. She felt the dense length of the dildo trapped between Wells’ inner thigh and her own. Her shorts were short enough that only the thin fabric of Wells pants separated Kara’s skin from the tip of the dildo.

Their kissing deepened, heated up, until Wells pulled back with a sound of surprise and Kara felt a wet spot on her thigh. Knowing that the wetness got there because Wells was already so aroused by their kissing that the marvelous high-tech dildo could sense it—made Kara want to feel a lot more of that.

“I didn’t think there was any lube left after last time,” Wells gasped.

“Probably not much,” Kara said and returned to kissing Wells to hide her smirk.

She slid a hand between the two of them and pinched Wells’ nipples through the ribbed tank. Wells grabbed Kara’s hips and pulled her closer.

The lube inside the device hadn’t fully warmed up yet—so Kara felt very clearly as dribbles of cool wetness leaked out, through Wells’ thin pants, and rolled down Kara’s leg. A moan escaped her and she leaned into Wells, their hips rocking together.

As she thrust her hips against Wells, the fabric of the pants and shorts rubbing together dragged the seam of the shorts against Kara’s clit and lips. She liked the feel of that, but her shorts were absorbing her wetness and she wanted it to go somewhere else. Without moving away from Wells, she pushed the waistband of her shorts down and stepped out of them. But with the two of them standing up, she couldn’t get quite the angle she wanted.

“Let’s go to bed,” she murmured in Wells ear.

Wells made a sound of complete agreement.

When they stepped away from the wall, parting enough to walk without tripping over each other, Wells looked down and laughed. “You’re going to ruin every pair of pants I own, aren’t you?”

The now-bigger shape of the dildo’s long side was outlined very clearly by damp fabric and a trail of dark wet dribbles went from its head nearly to Wells’ knee. Kara shivered with desire, unsure whether she wanted more to put her hand there or her mouth or her pussy. All three?

“Bed,” she insisted.

As soon as Wells was on her bed, Kara crawled over her, hand playing with the dildo in her pants, stroking and squeezing. Wells moaned and tried to reach for her, but Kara stayed kneeling over Wells’ legs, fingering the toy.

“The half inside you, has that gotten bigger too?” she asked.

Wells nodded, pupils wide and dark with need.

“Is that half straight or does it curve like this half?” Kara dragged her fingers all the way up and down the shaft, that had been built to curve up slightly—no doubt to hit her g-spot when the time came.

“Curves,” Wells said. “More than that half. Because the range of motion is shorter, so it needed more of a curve.”

“You’re so clever. So you mean a little tug here and it’s hitting in the just the right spot?” Kara punctuated her question with a tug and saw Wells’ eyelids flutter.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“I don’t even need to use my hands,” Kara said.

She crawled forward and straddled Wells’ thigh, keeping most of her weight on her legs. With the dildo trapped between her thigh and Wells’ again, she rocked forward and back.

Wells groaned and grabs fistfuls of the sheets. “Yes, I feel that.”

But the base of the long side wasn’t quite against Wells’ clit in this position and it really should be.

“Hmm.” Kara tucked her fingers over the waistband of Wells pants and pulled the fabric away from her body.

“Please,” Wells said.

“Not yet,” Kara told her.

She reached into Wells’ pants. Feeling the slick mess around the dildo, the clinging fabric, she couldn’t help but stroke the dildo. Stroking, she drew it sideways and up, past the point where it would stick out from Wells’ body, all the way up across her pubic bone and belly. That should wrap the hinge area—made of super soft silicone—over Wells’ clit.

Kara straddled Wells’ hips, the upward pointing dildo directly under her. She pushed Wells’ pants down just far enough to expose the silken length. Kara settled onto Wells and the toy, its shaft between her lips.

“That’s not … exactly … how it’s designed to be used,” Wells said.

“Isn’t it?” Kara rocked forward and felt the ridges at its head thrum over her clit. “Oh, I think it might be.”

She let more of her weight rest on Wells and rocked harder, faster. Wells moaned, grabbed Kara’s thighs and bucked up. Kara glanced down in time to see a thick wetness spill out of the tip of the dildo and soak into Wells’ tank top, plastering it to her belly.

At this point, the wetness coming out of the dildo had to be a mixture of lube and Wells own juices—and the idea made Kara lengthen her strokes, wanting to see more spill out. The warm shaft slipped easily between her lips, back and forth, thick, the perfect soft density to stroke her lips and her swollen opening.

Hot from the movement, and so much more, Kara pulled off her T-shirt. Her breasts bounced as she rode the length of the dildo, Wells staring. Kara cupped her breasts, pinched her nipples to hardness.

“You like the view?” she asked.

“Love it,” Wells said. Her gaze slipped lower. “I don’t know what I like best. Your pussy looks very sweet like this.”

“Really?”

“Seeing your lips around me, sliding up and down,” Wells broke off with a groan and a longer spurt of clear wet spilled into her tank top.

“Uh oh, watch out, you’re going to come first again.”

“Am. Not. I see how swollen your pussy is. You’re going to come all over me.”

This was a real danger, especially if Wells kept talking like that. She shoved Wells’ tank top up, all that wet fabric gathered on Wells’ upper chest, her nipples exposed. Kara bent forward and put her mouth on one, sucking intently.

Wells’ fingers dug into Kara’s legs as she thrust up hard, the length of her sliding across Kara’s most sensitive places, the ridged head thrumming Kara’s clit as Wells drew her hips back and thrust again and again.

Kara tried to concentrate on the hard nipple in her mouth, not on delicious burning in her clit and how much she wanted to let that loose to spread through her body. Small bursts of wet spattered into the space between Wells’ belly and hers. Kara pushed back far enough to put a hand on Wells’ belly, rubbing around in the slippery wetness. She painted it up to Wells breast, teasing around the nipple.

“You’re going to come on your own boobs before you ever come on mine,” Kara teased.

“You’re going to come on me first,” Wells insisted. “And then we’ll see. I can feel how slick you are. There’s no friction. You’re coating my dildo with how wet you are.”

“I am not … you are …” Kara said, though this was definitely not a sure bet. She gathered more wet from Wells belly and circled it around her other nipple until it was glistening. But that affected her as much as Wells.

Wells was grinning like a wolf. “You’re going to lose control,” Wells purred. “You’ve been so close for so long. You can’t stop. The smallest thing will make you come now.”

“Won’t,” Kara said.

“This is your last chance to come for me before I make you.”

“You can’t … make me.”

Wells’ hand stroked in from Kara’s hip. Her strong thumb reached Kara’s pubic mound and moved down with firm, heavy pressure. Kara felt the wave of sensation being pushed forward by that thumb and squirmed, but she had nowhere to go and the squirming only made her more aware of the slippery dildo between her lips, soaked with her own wetness. Wells’ thumb reached the bottom of her mound and pressed her clit against the dildo.

The dryness of Wells’ thumb, the sudden intense friction in the midst of all that slick wetness, burst open Kara’s control, flooded her with ecstasy.

Kara fell forward, arms locked, hands on either side of Wells, whole body shaking with the force of her orgasm. Spasms inside her slicked the dildo with even more wetness and Wells thrust it against her, dragging more pleasure out of her, more sounds, more coming, shaking.

Wells put her hands on Kara’s elbows and bent them out, pulling Kara’s body against her, still moving her hips, rubbing her hard enough to keep her coming. Kara clutched the blankets, her face pressed into Wells’ shoulder, the waves of release so intense she was almost crying. Wells held onto her while the last spasms moved through her body.

Then Wells rolled them over. She pushed up from Kara’s body and moved down the bed. Hands on the inside of Kara’s knees, she pushed them farther apart.

Kneeling, half-lying, between Kara’s legs, Wells grabbed the thick length of the dildo and brought its head to Kara’s clit. As she rubbed and circled the head over Kara’s clit, Kara realized at this angle, with the base of the dildo pressing into Wells, it was as if she rubbed her clit directly on Kara’s. The idea had her already closer to another orgasm than she thought possible.

“Don’t know if I can get you any wetter than you are.” Wells’ voice came out low and rough.

“Please,” Kara panted. “Please, yes.”

Wells’ motions grew faster, less deft, her hand jerking at the dildo, its head striking Kara’s clit in random, tantalizing ways.

A stream of hot wetness poured out of the dildo, over Kara’s clit. And another. Wells’ fist around the dildo, her head forward, black hair draping around her face, gaze fixed on the hard bursts of her orgasm streaming over Kara’s aching clit and lips.

Kara wrapped her hand around Wells’, pulled forward until the dildo’s head, still spurting, pressed against her straining clit and made her come again. Not as intense this time, sleepy softness blossoming inside her, like the warm, silken liquid coating her, the mixing of her and Wells’ wetness spread on their skin.

When Kara became aware of anything beyond her own pleasure and the delicious feel of Wells’ lying half on the top her, Kara realized they lay in the middle of a huge wet spot.

“We’re going to have to do laundry,” she said and started laughing at the mundanity of the thought.

Wells laughed with her and rolled far enough over on the bed to be out of the wet. Kara went to her, curled against her side, head on Wells’ shoulder.

“I was supposed to come on your breasts,” Wells pointed out. “Still haven’t managed that.”

“Don’t you think that will look better when I have a bra on anyway?”

“I love how you think.”

“Good, because I love how you invent,” Kara told her.


End file.
